November
by InklingButterflies
Summary: It was early July when Canada decided he'd had enough of life. It was late November when America decided that he wasn't okay with that anymore. Rated T for suicide, coarse language, and themes that may be triggering to some readers.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey guys- I haven't been on ffn for a while, at least no as a writer, and for anyone who was even vaguely interested in my last story, I apologize. The writing was pretty shitty anyways^-^' I might rewrite it, I don't know, I do like writing mentally distraught characters after all. I started this story in the same month as Breaking Down, but it required heavy editing as it was originally meant to be a murder mystery where it turned out that someone had murdered Canada and it was all very confusing and horrible.. There might still be little clues in there that it was a murder, but, um, just ignore those. So yeah, I changed it up and am rewriting this story from scratch using bits and pieces of the original work. I really shouldn't bore you with this though, so here you go, without further ado, I present,**

_**November**_

_They say time heals all wounds_

_But is it seems to me that more often than healing them_

_It's time that inflicts them_

_It was after all time that brought me to my knees_

Canada signed his name on the snow-white sheet in his diary; it would be a fitting last entry to the journal he'd been keeping. Today was the fourth of July, three days past Canada's own birthday, and the date of America's. Canada had chosen this particular date for what he was going to do due to the fact that America would do doubt be throwing a party to celebrate another year of proclaiming himself the hero, stuffing his face with fast food and forgetting he had a brother.

No one would disturb Canada from what he wished to do. Though he probably could have chosen any day he pleased, it wasn't like anyone ever visited him, or even remembered who he was. Canada gave a sideways glance at his peacefully sleeping bear

_Not even you, Kumachicho._ He thought to himself sadly as he ran a hand down the polar bear's spine.

He moved his hand to an object that gleamed in the dim light his lamp cast over the room; a black handgun with gentle silver streaks on the sides. His hand wrapped around it, but he found himself painfully unable to bring it to his head like he had planned. He squeezed his eyes shut and felt a tear run down his cheek.

Why couldn't he do it? It was for the better of everyone, including himself! And the rest of the countries wouldn't have to worry about forgetting him anymore, because it didn't matter if you forgot to invite a dead person to whatever meeting or party you were planning.

He tried to relax, letting his muscles loosen and his mind wander, in hopes that he would be able to finish what he had started soon. He found himself wondering how America's party was, and if his brother was having fun. He chuckled slightly: of course his brother was having fun! It was his birthday after all. Canada felt sudden guilt weigh his hand even more. Some brother Canada was, killing himself on his brother's birthday. He might as well just wrap a bow around himself and copy his note to a birthday card for his dear brother.

The more he thought about his choice of date for the deed the more he regretted it. What if by cruel chance America noticed his absence and came to his house to demand he attend the party? He quickly shook the thought; it wasn't like he'd been invited anyways.

When Canada tore his gaze from the gun, he found a pair of eyes staring at him questioningly. Kumajiro had awoken. Canada forced a smile to his face,

"Hello, Kumakiro."

The white bear only blinked at him "Who are you?"

Canada's face fell and another tear fought its way free and slid down his cheek "I'm Canada..."

_**[-]**_

America wasn't having any fun. He hadn't been having any fun since the mysterious gift had shown up at his doorstep without a card or tag proclaiming who it came from. Instead it was an extremely and almost painfully simple white-wrapped box with no signs whatsoever of where it had come from and nothing adorning it but a red bow; one of the ones with the crazily twirled ribbons that stuck up all over the place. He had concluded that it must have been left there for him by some mysterious gift-giver; someone who wanted to stay anonymous. With that he set it in the pile of gifts and forgot about it for the smallest sliver of a moment.

However, now that it was time to open the gifts, his mind had settled back to the subject of the gift. Sure all the gifts he'd opened so far had been really cool, but he wanted to know what was in that particular present. He had opted to open it last, since everyone seemed so eager to get him to open their own present, and no one was rooting for the smallish simple white box with the red bow.

Putting a bundle of sunflowers and a bottle of vodka aside, America forced himself smile at Russia "Thank you, Russia"

Now, finally, it was the turn of the mystery present.

"So who's this one from?" America questioned the nations curiously as he tugged at the red bow.

No one spoke up.

"O-kay... So no one wants to get credit for this gift before I open it?"

Again, no one spoke.

"Fine, be that way, mysterious gift-giver!" America frowned as he carefully peeled away the simple white paper.

Inside was a brown box as nondescript as the wrapping, which America pulled the lid off eagerly, expecting some grand surprise arranged by all the nations. Instead it was full of tissue paper.

"Ugh, why are there so many layers to this? It better be worth it" America groaned as he dug around in the tissue paper for something of worth.

All he came out with was a glass bottle of maple syrup.

"Hm," He grunted in an unimpressed tone "Something good is definitely hidden in here..." He turned the box upside down and dumped its contents on the wooden floor.

Along with the tissue paper, which floated lazily out of the box like feathers, a much harder thin square object fell out, hitting the ground with the sound of shattering glass. America flinched at the sound and so did many of his guests.

"Aiyaa! Now look what you've done, America! You've broken something, aru!" China scolded him fiercely.

America sighed and scooped up the object, which now had a spider web of cracks across the glass front.

"It would seem it is a photo, America-san." Japan commented upon seeing the object "Who is that with you?"

"Ve~~ It's you and that floating bear that sometimes attends meetings!" Italy interjected cheerfully.

America ignored them, tipping his head slightly at the picture, trying to make out the details behind the spider web of cracks. The picture was of America and Canada; that was the only thing America could tell for sure, and at the realization something cold shot through him.

He had remembered to invite his brother, hadn't he?

"That's my brother: Canada" America answered hesitantly "I think..."

"Who?" England asked, examining the photo from where he stood, using it as an excuse not to think about what they were celebrating. He was having a tough time, considering this was the first time America had convinced him to come, and he was regretting every second of it.

"Canada, my brother? You know, the nation, you _practically raised?_" America answered more firmly "Does anyone remember what Canada's flag looks like?"

"Canada flag is funny red and white one with leaf in middle, da?" Russia half asked, half answered.

"For shit's sake... I forgot to invite Canada!" America cried, now fully aware and certain of his mistake.

"Language, you bloody git!" England scolded the younger nation.

"Fuck!" America growled instead of listening to his former guardian "I bet you didn't notice Canada's not here!"

Discretely England reached over and covered Sealand's ears much to the would-be nation's annoyance.

"Fuck the party. I have to apologize to my brother!" America told them over his shoulder as he disappeared out of the door, leaving a room full of nations with gaping mouths.

_**[-]**_

America jogged down the late evening roads, fireworks celebrating his birthday flashing behind him, lighting up the lonely streets. He held in his hand a small white envelope that contained the once-forgotten invitation that Canada should have received weeks ago. He hummed with child-like innocence as Canada's house came into view.

He walked up to the door, planning to apologize, thank Canada for the gift and invite him to the party with the hope that Canada would forgive him and accept. Then they could go back, America could apologize to his guests for leaving so unexpectedly, and they could catch the end of the fireworks show. He felt bad about forgetting his brother, but once he let Canada know that he had remembered him in the end, surely everything would be better!

With his usual stupid grin on his face- forgetting the anger he'd felt at himself before over this, he knocked on the wooden door. Usually the sound of movement would greet him when he knocked at a door or at least a sigh when he was knocking on England's door, but this time, there wasn't a sound from within the large house. He knocked again, dumbfounded. Perhaps his brother had gone to the party after all and America had missed him? No, that couldn't be it...

America knocked yet again, reverting to his tactics when England wouldn't answer his door; knocking as loud as he could in an annoying sing-song way that replicated cute little tunes. Yet still no one came to answer the door. With an annoyed groan he decided to screw knocking and try the doorknob.

He twisted the cool metal in his hand and the door clicked open with a gentle moan as it swung open. America poked his head in,

"Hello~ Canada! Where are you?" He called into the dark house.

When no one answered him he slipped into the shadowed house to look for his brother. He headed first for the kitchen almost purely out of habit, flicking on lights as he went. The kitchen was a fair size, with newly replaced appliances and wide counter-tops, but every surface had a layer of dust coating it.

"Canada? You here?" He called again, mostly for the sake of hearing his own voice in the eerie silence that had settled over the house thick as the dust.

He let his gaze sweep the kitchen, pausing at a small white object sitting on the counter. As he approached he saw something most unsettling; a cake. At first he thought it was for him and his face lit up like a child's, but he quickly realized the Canadian flag was what adorned it, not his flag. The cake showed no signs of ever being touched, but instead dust tarnished what would have been a delicious treat, making America wrinkle his nose.

"Eww, talk about a ruined cake" He commented as he examined it more closely "Kind of strange to make a cake for yourself on your brother's birthday..." He said absently as he read the words on the cake.

_Happy Birthday Canada_

"Canada's birthday?" America echoed "I wonder when that was..."

He continued on out of the kitchen, preferring not to think about the forgotten cake. His next destination was upstairs, where the bedrooms were. As he mounted the first step he wasn't really surprised to hear the moan of the wood beneath his foot, but it sounded like someone else was, judging by the sharp intake of breath coming from upstairs.

"Canada?" He called nervously "Is that you?" He hurried up the stairs "For a split second there you actually had me worried!" He laughed in that loud obnoxious way of his only for a dark quiet voice to cut him off; it was a wonder he even heard it over himself.

"Why are you here, America?"

_**[-]**_

Canada felt his breath catch in his throat: why was America here? He had been certain no one would look for him, especially not his brother. Maybe it had been a mistake to leave that gift on his door step, and even more of a mistake to put a picture of them in it, but he had only wanted his brother to have something to remember him by, considering the only pictures America had in his house were of himself and sometimes himself and England. He even had a picture of Kumajiro frolicking in a field of flowers, but he didn't have a single picture of Canada.

"Can't I visit my brother?" America's painfully cheerful and innocent voice came from the other side of the door.

"You haven't visited me in months, America. You didn't even visit me for my birthday, why now?" Canada asked in his quiet voice laced with venom.

America didn't seem to pick up on the underlying poison"Oh, yeah, sorry about that, I saw the cake! You should have covered it up or something, we could have eaten it!"

"I'm sorry to have inconvenienced you" Canada whispered in his gentle tone, his hand finally tightening around the handgun as he almost subconsciously brought it to his head.

"No problem! There's a big cake at my place we can eat instead! You know, because it's my birthday..." America prompted.

"Happy birthday, America" Canada sighed, trying to warm his voice from the wintery tone; there was no need to alert his brother or bring him into this, lest he burst in and figure out what he was doing.

"Thank you!" The childish nation's grin shone through his voice "Can I come in? I realized I forgot to invite you, so I brought the invite!" He tried the doorknob, surprised to find it locked tight.

"No" Canada said quickly, feeling the icy cold metal of the gun against his temple as it bumped against his head.

"Aw, why not?" America whined "I'll knock until you let me in!"

_Knock knock knock_

Canada squeezed his eyes shut, the tapping of America's hand against the wood of the door mimicking the deadly ticking of the clock that Canada had shattered long ago on the hard floor and driving him to near insanity after only a few moments with the sound echoing through his room.

"Please stop it..." Canada asked politely, though his voice strained with an anxiousness that was hard to miss.

"Not until you let me in or come out." America answered simply, no doubt missing the tone of his voice.

Why is it that the inexplicable ability of constant happiness belongs to some, while others have enough sadness and pain for the rest of the world? It seemed unfair for people to smile while people suffered. Canada didn't answer America this time; what could he say? That he just needed to put away his gun and then they'd be off? To please wait while he blew his brains out? There were no words to brush off America. They do say that actions speak louder than words. Canada chuckled gentle and brushed his finger against the trigger. That's what they say at least.

_Knock knock knockknockknock knoc-BANG_

The bullet pierced Canada's skull mid knock, the momentum snapping his head to the side with a sickening crack before he slumped forwards against the desk. The sound was deafening, but the pain only lasted a second before there was no more feeling at all.

**_ [-]_**

"Canada?" America called gingerly, his ears still ringing from the sound he knew could only be one thing "Canada?!" He refused to accept it even so...

He twisted the doorknob frantically, as if the locked door would suddenly open. He clawed at the door in his panic, reaching for his cell phone and punching in England's number, he barely had to wait at all before England picked up,

"Where the bloody hell are you, America?" The cynical nation demanded "You were the one who finally convinced me to give your bloody party a shot and you ran off!"

"You have to get over here, and bring France!" America told him frantically "It's Canada!"

There was a long pause on the other end "Who?"

"CANADA!" America practically screamed into the small cell phone.

"Right... Don't see why we'd want to go to his house, but consider it next year's birthday present" England told him before hanging up.

"It can be every year's birthday present for the rest of my life for all I care so long as Canada's alright..." America breathed into the phone, though no one was on the other side.

Barely a few minutes later England and France had arrived, and were standing impatiently in the hallway.

America gazed at them with frantic eyes "I—I heard a gunshot. All I wanted was to give him his invitation but he wouldn't let me in... He sounded so weird, I should have realized there was something wrong but then—then I heard a gunshot!" The words tumbled from his mouth all at once, his eyes blurry with fear "The door's locked!" His anguished cry hung in the air.

"A gunshot?" England echoed his words quietly.

"You do not think that he-? _Oh mon Dieu..._" France breathed softly.

"America... Did you think to perhaps, I don't know, break the door down?" England suggested with a sigh, not truly believing that something might actually be wrong. Nations couldn't truly die in this fashion, right?

Break the door down? America practically hit himself; why hadn't he thought to simply do that instead of wasting precious time calling England and France? If Canada was hurt, he could be bleeding to death as they spoke!

The American threw his weight against the door without another word, earning a groan from the wood. The other two nations watched anxiously as he tried again, and again, until finally with a defeated crack the door swung open. England choked on a breath, and France cried out in distress as their eyes fell upon the scene.

Canada sat in his desk chair slumped forwards against his desk, blood blossoming from a gory wound in his head, turning the blond locks into a sticky scarlet mess as fresh blood pooled on the desk and dripped from it. America managed to speak, his words were desperate, trying to illicit a response from the still form.

"Mattie..!" America sniffed, stumbling into the room "Now isn't the time for jokes bro. You can't sleep through my birthday party... You—You have to get up!" He commanded his brother, but the Canadian would never obey another command from his brother, or anyone else again.

England put a hand on America's shoulder in a comforting way, despite the fact that his own eyes threatened to spill with tears, that his own breath came in ragged bursts, threatening to overtake him with panic and grief "America—" He began.

America shook off his hand "Do you remember him now, at least?" He addressed the other two nations "Can you see him? Or do you just see the blood?" His voice was hoarse, lacking the child-like glee it usually held, it was like he had been given an unwelcome shove into maturity.

"I see him, America, I remember him. We aren't blind... Not anymore, America" England spoke for himself as well as the France, who seemed to agree with a jumbled mix of French and English which dripped with tight agony.

"_On doit... On doit parler __aux __autres..."_ The sound of French made America cry out in distress and grief. Canada would have been able to translate that for them, but now he would never speak or hear English again, let alone French. And as though France assumed they had understood him perfectly, the frenchman stumbled back towards the stairs "_Canada... Mon petit Canada... je __m'excuse__... Je suis désoler... __Pardonne__-moi..." _

England cast a wary glance at America, and then at France "He'll get hurt if I let him go alone..." He murmured, although America knew that Arthur didn't really care about France.'s safety in this case. He just didn't want to face Matthew's death. And then they were gone, refusing to face the blood, leaving America to face it alone. Alfred hated them for it.

He turned back towards Canada's room, walking towards his brother slowly. As he approached the unmoving form that slumped over the desk, he tried desperately to convince himself that it was all some sick mistake and that the man covered in blood wasn't his brother at all. However he knew it was his brother and nothing and no one could ever change that. Not even the hero. America gently closed Canada's violet eyes, hiding the agony and shock that would forever rest in them as his last expression.

He hoped that they could find a way to wash the blood from his hair; Canada wouldn't have wanted his hair so messy. As he brushed a strand of hair from his brother's bloody face an open black journal caught his attention. It had evaded the worst of the blood and was still legible, though America wasn't sure he wanted to read what it had to say; he was afraid of what it might say. He picked it up anyways and began to read in a clear voice, though no one was listening.

_Dear Diary,_

_I always told myself that it would get better. Those are usually the words spoken from parent to child or from friend to friend, but I have no friends from which to hear these comforting words, so I told them to myself every night. _

_Tonight however, I __can't__take it anymore._

_A few days ago it was my birthday, July the first, as it's always been, but I __didn't__invite anyone this year, no one ever comes anyways. I made a cake even so, for old time's sake. _

_I feel selfish for taking my life on my brother's birthday, I mean, some present, right?_

_But I couldn't wait a moment longer and I'm sure that tonight no one will come over; __they'll __be too busy at America's house. So I __don't __know when __they'll __find me—or rather if __they'll __find me. Then again maybe __they're __reading this now, so I guess I should treat this like a suicide note instead of another journal entry—_

_Don't __feel bad guys, I'm not mad at you; it was bound to happen at some point. America, if __you're __reading this __I'm __super sorry for ruining your birthday. I __don't __really have much to say to anyone else, considering you guys __don't __really see me let alone remember me, but I'm sorry to you guys too, for being a burden, you know? England and France: Thanks for raising me, even if you did a crappy job some of the time, I still appreciate that you tried your very best. I just kinda wish you guys would open your eyes and see how loyal a country I was. Oh, right, America, can you take good care of Kumajiro? He was a good companion to me, and I hate to leave him, but I must. And bring maple syrup to my funeral, the real stuff. Oh, __I'm __sounding so needy... I really __shouldn't__be asking anything of you guys... So I guess __I'll __just finish up and get this over with, I __don't __want to give myself too much more time to think about it. I'm afraid I might find some reason not to. _

_What can I say to make this any less painful? Just keep in mind it __wasn't__really you guys that hurt me, it was time spent away from you guys. And you know what?_

_They say time heals all wounds_

_But is it seems to me that more often than healing them_

_It's time that inflicts them_

_It was after all time that brought me to my knees_

_- Canada_

America flinched with every word, feeling a fresh slash of pain. His eyes shifted to a small white form hunched over and splattered with blood, trembling on the bed.

"Who was he?" The bear whispered.

"He was Canada" America answered firmly "My brother Canada"

**So? Haha, it wasn't perfect, I know, still has some old writing and I might have forgotten to remove some parts that mention other nations that weren't actually present so I'm sorry if there are bits that make zero sense in context. I don't know if I'm going to continue it, I have enough content left to build another chapter off my old works and then it will be 100% new material. So let me know how you feel about this story. I don't own Hetalia. Kbye. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Hi guys c: So first thing is first, thank you so much for the favorites guys :3 it made my day for sure. I'm not quite sure what to think of this chapter, it takes the story in a different kind of direction, so I hope you don't mind too much c; this is as much as I could make with my previous writing, so we will have to see how quickly I can continue, but I'm sure you guys can encourage me if you are so inclined. As always, suggestions are welcome and encouraged, I personally love constructive criticism because there is nothing I love more than improving my work. **

America stood with his hands shoved in his pocket, a cool late November breeze sending shivers down his spine, carrying with it tiny flakes of snow, the slightest dusting covering the cold ground. The sun hung on the edge of the horizon, threatening to drop below it and let darkness take hold. America had found himself visiting this desolate spot almost every day since the untimely death of his brother; it was the only place he could find comfort anymore.

No one had really been sure what to do after Canada's death, and though there had been a funeral, very few had shown up, some because they'd never met Canada, but America suspected most didn't show up out of fear; it was no normal thing for a nation to die. It suggested that they could very well die at any moment, just like a human, even if they didn't age in the same way as them, and that they didn't need the scars of war to bring them down. He couldn't say he blamed them for their fear.

They hadn't buried Canada in a graveyard—considering that there were really only humans buried there, instead they had buried him on a hill under a great big maple tree. He had always loved maple after all, and it seemed more fitting than a crowded cemetery. Marking his final resting place was a simple stone plaque that had only his name, including his formal nation name, his birthday and the day of his death, there wasn't a word of farewell on it, because no one had been sure what to say. What was there to say? To say they would always remember him would have been a lie.

America knew the other nations felt bad about Canada dying, but no one except himself ever came to visit his brother anymore. At first when he came there were often flowers on the grave, but not anymore. It made America wonder if anything had changed after all, if anyone still remembered who rested under the simple plaque. He doubted it. Not even death could burn Canada into their minds.

"You miss him, don't you?" A voice sounded from behind him, pulling him out of his thoughts "I thought I might find you here"

"What do you want, England?" America sighed, something akin to annoyance sparking inside him, not bothering to answer his first question considering how obvious the answer was.

England stepped up beside him and leaned over to place a flower on Canada's grave, though to America it seemed more of a formality than anything else "You've spent a lot time here, America, too much time almost-" He began hesitantly, unsure of how America would react "Oh, who am I kidding? You've been spending all your time here! You have respons—"

"Responsibilities, yeah, I've heard," The american growled "He was my brother, hell, you raised him, maybe you should reconsider how much time you spend here, especially since you spend none here anymore"

England couldn't help the sigh that escaped from between his lips "Because I've moved on, and you should too. I might have taken care of him for a portion of his life, but I've _made _myself move on" The cynical nation was obviously making an effort to keep level and not call America names like he usually did.

"Move on?" America echoed dryly "How can I move on? My brother _killed _himself"

"And you shouldn't be paying for his mistake—"

"_His _mistake? What about _our _mistake?" America demanded, his anger peaking within him, the bitterness from over the months threatening to finally spill over.

"Listen here, you bloody git, you can't mope around forever, I doubt Canada would have wanted to see you like this! Sure I wish he wouldn't have done what he did, but there is no changing the past!" England voice rose with agitation.

"And why not?" America challenged "Why can't we change the past? Can't you wave your hand around like you always do and go back in time to stop Canada?"

England sighed, wishing America would just drop it and give up all of his infernal moping "Time magic is extremely complicated and requires a vast amount of preparation; it's not something you can just do—"

"But it exists?" America's eyes lit up subtly.

"Well technically yes" England confirmed cautiously "But no magic that complicated comes without drawbacks, a git like you would get lost in time within minutes, too many rules for you to understand. This is serious magic we're talking about"

"Oh yeah? What kind of rules?" America asked with slightly narrowed eyes.

"Differs for every spell..." England answered hesitantly "What's it to you, America?"

"Oh nothing, just wondering is all" America replied quickly.

"Hmph" England grunted "Well I have work to do and so do you, so do yourself a favor and stop moping about, as much as I want to mope around and feel guilty too, I'm not selfish enough to ignore my people and mourn for an ungodly amount of time" He turned and walked off, muttering just loud enough for America to hear "Bleeding git..."

America clenched his fists and tensed as anger flowed through him, only to evaporate when he remembered where he was.

"Sorry, Canada; I know you don't like it when I get really mad and loud" He apologized, though he knew he would get no response "But you know what, Canada? I think I'm going to save you! Because that's what heroes do!" America proclaimed loudly, and for the first time since his brother's death, America sounded like himself; lively, excited, and hero-obsessed as ever.

He turned and sprinted down the hill to spend his next few days planning a break-in and a very heroic saving of the day. That was what heroes did after all, right? And if said hero needed a bit of magic to help him along, then so be it, because America was going to save his brother, and he didn't care what England thought.

**_[-]_**

America had camped outside England's house for several days now, sleeping in the bushes and spending the day waiting for the right moment to continue the task at hand. All that needed to happen now was for England to leave the house so that America could break in and see if he could dig up a time spell or whatever it was that England had called them—for once America was truly hoping that England's whole magic thing wasn't simply the result of an unstable mind. Unfortunately however, much to America's annoyance and confusion, England hadn't left his house once since his encounter with America by Canada's grave.

The whole thing was threatening to push America over the edge; he simply couldn't wait a day longer. So on the fifth night of waiting, America had given up on his stealthy waiting approach, and decided to rather put his ninja hero skills into action by breaking in while England was still in the house, in the hopes that he was sleeping.

He crept around to the back of the house, where he had two options: a window, or the back door. Despite being a hero of epic proportions, America opted for the easy way on this one, slipping through the surprisingly unlocked back door.

"You'd think he'd be a bit more careful." America muttered, though he wasn't complaining.

The usually so arrogant nation moved swiftly through the house he knew almost as well as his own, his own fear and anxiousness driving him to move as quickly as possible to the upper regions of the house. A shiver ran down his spine as he took in the layer of dust that had taken up residence on all the surfaces of England's house, a flash of Canada's dark house flashing through his brain. He hurried up the stairs, glad to find that they were soundless and did not let out a single creak at contact with his foot.

Upstairs the condition of the house was no better, which sent yet another shiver down America's spine. Ideas shot through his head; was England like Canada? Was he going to—No, America refused to think like that, there had to be some logical explanation as for why the usually neat and tidy gentleman-like nation had suddenly let his house fall into a dusty mess. America moved down the hallway towards England's study, where he kept the huge book he claimed was a spell book. America hoped it actually was a book full of working arcane arts, and not just some cook book that England thought held magical powers.

As he approached the door, another door caught his attention, a very wide open door. It was the door that led into England's bedroom, and from it a gentle, heart-wrenching noise resounded. The sound was muffled, but unmistakably, it was the sound of sobbing. Despite his intentions for breaking into England's house in the dead of night, he drifted towards the open door until he was standing in the door frame, staring in.

England sat hunched over on his bed, his face buried in his hands as violent sobs racked his frame. Tears spilled over the confines of his hands and streaked his face with glistening streams of crystal. The tea-loving nation had lied. He had fucking lied.

_Moved on my ass _America thought bitterly, though he felt a pang of pity for the older nation; was he really that broken up over Canada's death?

America stood in the door way, unable to look away for the haunting scene before him. He forced himself to tear his gaze away and disappear down the hallway and into the study, lest England look up and catch the intruder. He walked confidently up to the huge leather book and opened it.

_The big book of spells_

_Volume I_

_By Emma Maske_

America groaned and flipped the page, why did the stupid book have to be so big? Hopefully the next page held some sort of index... Instead, it held instructions on how to use the darned book. Apparently it was formatted so that there was a spell index in the back half, and instructions in the front half, all you had to do was find the spell you were looking for, and follow it to whatever page number it listed, where there would be instructions.

America turned to where the index started, then flipped to _T _for time. It took him a moment, but he located the words 'time spells' on the seemingly endless list of 'T' spells, chuckling slightly at the underlined 'tea spells'. He turned to the page it directed him to, much to America's exasperation, pages 3 through 5.

_Time spells_

_Time spells are especially tricky, considering they deal with the very fabric of our dimension, creating an entirely new timeline in which the user of this spell, if they are successful, may reside, typically with little to no memory of having tampered with the past in the first place. For the time spell highlighted first in this particular book, you will require:_

- _Chalk_

- _Dragon scale dust_

- _Tears of the truly devastated_

- _A candle_

- _Good intentions_

America stopped there and frowned; where was he going to get Dragon scale dust, hell, was that even a real thing? He set to work silently rummaging through England's shelves, certain that he would find what he was looking for in no time, and surely enough, before long he had a small piece of chalk, a long blood-red candle (along with some matches), and a jar full of a flakey golden dust labelled 'Dragon scale dust. DO NOT TOUCH!' Heh.

He went back to the book, skimming over the instructions "Draw a pentagon with the chalk...blah blah blah" He muttered to himself as he drew the five-pointed star around him on the ground with the chalk as it instructed "Outline with dragon scale dust..." He continued on, doing as it said "A tear at each corner..." He said hesitantly, unsure if he had any tears left in him after so long spent crying over his brother's grave, but no sooner had the thought of his brother's grave crossed his mind did a glossy tear slide down his cheek.

He let a tear fall on the five corners, biting his lower lip to keep from sobbing like England was in the nearby room. The tears kept falling despite his best efforts.

"Finally put the candle in front of you at the tip of the pentagon..." He complied and set it down near the topmost corner "and light it" He struck a match and neared it to the candle "Be sure to think about exactly where you want to go. Warning: Until you complete whatever it is you have set out to complete in the past or are forced back, you will be stuck in a time loop until the candle goes out, at which point you die." America mused over the warning he had read, ignoring the other paragraph "Hm, seems legit" He touched the tiny flame to the candle.

"America!" A voice cried out behind him just a second too late as the fire flared up in blinding ball of heat and light, engulfing the shape drawn out on the floor, including America.

When the room darkened enough to see again there was no evidence that America had even been there except for a smoldering blood-red candle sitting in the center of the room. England began to cry again, because he had just lost another one. America wasn't coming back, not if he succeeded in his quest.

"Oh America, you bloody fool..."

**_[-]_**

America groggily opened his eyes to find himself on the couch in his living room. He blinked the dots of light out of his eyes and sat up, stretching his stiff muscles.

"Oh god... I had the weirdest dream last night." He said to the empty air around him with a loud yawn "Canada killed himself and I tried to go back in time to stop him..." He paused and wiped the drool from his face "Then I woke up..." Then America paused, cocking his head "Huh? Who was that person I was just thinking about...?" With a confused shake of his head the nation shrugged.

He took out his phone and turned it on. He stared at the glowing numbers and letters on the screen that cheerfully proclaimed the date "Yep... Definitely a dream, it's still my birthday!" He stood up shakily, surprised to find his house already fully decorated "I wonder when I did that..."

Without warning the doorbell rang, much to America's annoyance. He trudged over to it and cracked it open to find a whole gaggle of his fellow nations standing outside his door. They held brightly wrapped gifts and some even had snacks. He supposed they were here for his birthday.

"Oh, hey guys." He yawned, opening the door further "Sorry, I just woke up."

"I'd have thought you'd be up and excited, aru!" China commented as she came in with the rest of the group.

"I guess I must have stayed up too late last night out of excitement." He offered lamely as he ushered his guests into his living room, closing the door behind them.

Ugh, he was having _major_ déjà vu.

The doorbell rang yet again, America jumped to answer it quick as the wind. He opened the door, somehow not surprised to see England standing behind it.

"You're a mess!" America told him and he wasn't lying; England had dark circles under his eyes and he looked wary, as if he expected someone to suddenly point a gun at him.

"I noticed." England growled back "I don't know why I let you convince me to come. I don't plan to stay long."

America shrugged it off "Okie dokie!"

England shoved past him and into the living room, where he put a plate of scones on the table that looked like they'd seen a little too much sun.

"Uh, England..." Prussia said carefully "Don't you think those are a little burnt for the awesome me to have to even look at?"

"Pah! The arrogance! They are simply a little overcooked is all, not bloody burnt! You could never get such a lovely golden-brown colour if you tried" England protested with a dignified sniff.

Prussia gave a final glare at the burnt food, as if recalling a past experience with it and took several paces away from it.

Then the doorbell rang one last time. America walked over to the door hesitantly, as if able to tell that this time it wouldn't be people behind it. He opened it ever so slightly and glanced around; there was no one in sight. He looked down quickly, barely even checking, but to his surprise, there was a red and white box sitting on the porch. He tilted his head at it, feeling a familiar pang wash through him, like he was forgetting something über sad and important...

Oh well, it was probably nothing! He picked up the gift and walked inside, closing the door behind him.

"Watcha got there?" Prussia asked as he grabbed the box from him "Oo, cool, someone left a present for you at the door like England usually does! Bet it isn't as awesome as the one I got you though!" He said proudly as he rattled the white box.

America grabbed it away from him, unsure of why he felt so fiercely protective of it "Yeah..." He muttered absently "I bet not"

Prussia headed back into the crowd, searching in vain for something—anything! Full of beer.

"Where's the beer?" He called out angrily "What good's a party without a beer?"

America ignored him and placed the white present on the pile of blindingly bright presents that made the white box look like nothing. And so America let himself forget about the white box with the red bow, something he would find himself regretting, just like last time.

He floated from guest to guest, receiving numerous birthday wishes and happy greetings. He would have been happy to continue doing this for some time more, but eventually it was time to open presents, and after that was done, he could cut the brightly colored cake and eat to his heart's content.

They gathered around the small pile of gifts and waited for America to start opening them so they could be thanked, and get out before they got any toxically-coloured cake shoved down their throats. The sooner each nation got their gift opened, the sooner they could escape.

America was skilled at opening presents, so not to anyone's surprise, he was soon getting to the last few. Next was Prussia's gift, then Italy's, then Russia's, then finally the mysterious white box. He took the bright blue bag from Prussia and tore it open, only to find that the only thing in it was a small glass box that could have fit in America's palm.

"It's a sliver of my awesomeness!" Prussia proclaimed with a cocky grin "Be sure to take good care of it, my awesome self had a hard time giving it up! Feed it twice a day, but never after midnight..." He stated ominously.

"Prussia? It would appear to simply be an empty glass box." Japan said hesitantly.

"Duh, it's invisible!" Prussia told him with a roll of his eyes "It's awesomeness, you don't need to see it to know it's there!"

Japan blinked in confusion, but said nothing more.

"Uh, thanks, Prussia..." America thanked him, setting the small glass box aside without a second glance.

"Ve~~~ Mine next!" Italy jumped up, shoving the plastic container in his hands "I hope you like it, ve!"

"Italy!" Germany scolded his smaller friend "You were supposed to wrap it! And what did I tell you about giving leftover pasta as gifts!"

"Ve? Oops! Sorry, Germany!" Italy grinned with a hopeful apology.

America examined the contained "Thanks, Italy!" he set aside the container of yellowish pasta and moved on to Russia's gift.

It didn't take a genius to guess what the large nation had given him.

"Vodka and Sunflowers..." America laughed nervously "I never would have guessed it; you've really outdone yourself, Russia"

"Da?" Russia agreed cheerfully.

Putting the bundle of sunflowers and a bottle of vodka aside, America made himself smile at Russia "Thank you, Russia"

Now, finally, it was the turn of the mystery present.

"So who's this one from?" America questioned the nations curiously as he tugged at the red bow, playing with the twisted ribbons.

No one spoke up and America got another onslaught of déjà vu; had he spoken these words before? Weird.

"O-kay... So no one wants to get credit for this gift before I open it?"

Again, no one spoke and again he felt like he'd said these exact words before.

"Fine, be that way, mysterious gift-giver!" His lips twisted into a frown, not only out of confusion, but also out of the pure discomfort of how familiar everything felt. He was getting quite the headache.

Inside was a brown box as nondescript as the wrapping (more déjà vu), which America pulled the lid off eagerly, expecting some grand surprise arranged by all the nations. Instead it was full of tissue paper. The déjà vu was strong in this one.

"Ugh, why are there so many layers to this? It better be worth it" Digging through the tissue paper yielded only a small glass bottle of maple syrup. Ugh, why syrup? Who thought that would make a good gift? Plus he was being driven insane by the whole thing. Maybe he had gotten a similar gift last year?

"Hm," He grunted in an unimpressed tone "There's got to be something of worth in here" He turned the box upside down and dumped its contents on the wooden floor.

Along with the tissue paper, which floated lazily out of the box like feathers, a much harder thin square object fell out, hitting the ground with the sound of shattering glass. America flinched at the sound, feeling like something in his mind was shattering too, like a barrier, hiding something he didn't really want to find.

"Aiyaa! Now look what you've done, America! You've broken something, aru!" China scolded him fiercely.

America sighed and scooped up the object, which now had a spider web of cracks across the glass front. It almost hurt now, how familiar this felt...

"It would seem to be a photo, America-san." Japan commented upon seeing the object "Who is that with you?"

"Ve~~ It's you and that floating bear that sometimes attends meetings!" Italy interjected cheerfully.

America ignored them, tipping his head slightly at the picture, trying to make out the details behind the spider web of cracks. The picture was of America and Canada; that was the only thing America could tell for sure, and at the realization something cold slashed through him.

This had all happened before, and his brother was going to kill himself unless he did something.

"Crap"

**Poor America :3 thinking that nothing was wrong right up until the end there. I hope you enjoyed! Hetalia doesn't belong to me, and let us pray it never does c; bye guys, have an awesome day~!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey guys c: to celebrate Canada day, I am posting the final part of November. It is a bit short, but I didn't want to drag it out just for a higher word count. The ending might be a little unsatisfying for some of you... but, well, what can I say? I'm not good at ending things ;~; I don't own hetalia, and all that wonderful jazz. I haven't been feeling very inspired lately, so it is a miracle that I even got this on the page in time for today. Constructive criticism is encouraged, and if you notice any errors, then please point them out. I noticed a lot of typos in the last chapter and I was so embarrassed but much too lazy to fix them^-^' **

America sprinted down the streets towards Canada's house, his mind moving as fast as his legs. How had he forgotten? How could he have _let _himself forget? He had let his foolish hope trick him into thinking that everything was okay. This time he didn't waste time at the door, bursting through and racing down the hallway towards the stairs, flicking on lights as he went out of sheer habit, craving some sense of normality despite the situation.

He took the steps to the upper regions of the house two at a time, feeling time slipping away from him like sand through his fingers. He hadn't gotten away any faster than the first time around; did that mean he couldn't save his brother? It couldn't! He _had_ to save him this time! He didn't have a choice- he couldn't go through that pain again, he wouldn't let it happen...

America wasted no time in throwing his weight against the door to his brother's room "Don't do it, Canada!" He cried.

"Do what?" The familiar voice of his brother sounded from behind the locked door, tilting upwards in distress, presumably at the sudden arrival of his brother "What are you doing here, America?"

Canada's voice pierced right through him; it had been so long since he'd heard that voice, it both a balm on his figurative wounds, and the guilty weapon "Saving you." He growled, throwing his weight once again at the door.

"P-please stop, America! You're going to break the door down!" his brother begged softly, his voice nothing but a pitiful whimper.

"I know what you're going to so, Canada! It's not worth it!" America insisted, eyes wide with both fear and determination. It wasn't going to go down the same way again. How could it?

"I don't know what you're talking about." Canada replied evenly, in a disapproving tone. This time, now that America had bothered to listen, he heard a faint sigh escape Canada's lips, a low musing hum. The dragging of a chair across the room, the quiet thud against the door.

"Like hell you don't" America growled, shaking his head violently and breaking the brief spell of silence between them "Let me in!"

"Go home, America!" Canada instructed firmly "Isn't there a party in your honour at your house? Just for you? It'd be a shame if you missed it for me."

America flinched at the bitter undertone "I'm so sorry I forgot to invite you! I didn't _mean_ to forget you!"

"Of course you didn't." Canada's voice had turned almost sickly sweet "And if you want, I'll come by later."

America paused "You promise?" The childish innocence in him begged him to trust his brother. It was such a horrid lie to tell, but oh how he wanted to grab on to that little lie and cradle it, believe it truer than anything else.

"Something like that" Canada sighed.

"You're lying..." America accused him in a tone almost as soft as his brother's.

"W-what?" Canada stuttered "Why would I lie, Alfred?" He used America's human name in a patronizing tone "You know me better than that. At least I _thought _you did."

"That's right! I know what you're going to do and you can't hide it! The hero is here to stop you!" America told him victoriously, putting a foot down loudly to emphasize his point.

"I don't know what you're talking about." He repeated gently, as if America was a school child that simply couldn't understand instructions.

"But you do!" America insisted, feeling the familiar sting behind his eyes, tears welling up. In that moment America did feel like a school child, helpless and venerable.

"I just don't, America. Now go back home and have fun at your party."

"Not without you" America said simply, his voice quivering with distress.

"Without me" Then there was a long pause "You can sometimes be an okay brother, America, you know that?"

"Please, Mattie... Please" America slammed his weight against the door one last time before sinking to the ground, his legs refusing to support him "You can't do this to me again... Oh god please don—"

_BANG_

The world spun out of focus for a moment, as if it was America who'd gotten pierced through the head with a bullet and not his brother, pain slicing through his head. He swayed on his feet and suddenly the floor was coming up to meet his face. His vision swum with black and red dots until he hit the floor and everything went black.

He didn't stay on the ground long, but when he opened his eyes, he wasn't at Canada's house anymore. He was at his own house, lying on the couch with drool hanging from his mouth, party decorations hanging from the walls and ceiling like they were mocking him with their cheerful vibe.

The words of the spell book echoed in his mind.

_Warning: Until you complete whatever it is you have set out to complete in the past or are forced back, you will be stuck in a time loop._

Well shit.

Cue take three.

Mere minutes had passed since America had disappeared. England had spent the time trying to gather things from his shelves, his eyes red and puffy. He wasn't about to lose America too. The bloody spell wouldn't just _bring_ back Canada like America was perhaps hoping, instead it would simply create a new timeline completely unrelated to this one, where America had stopped Canada in the first place. And America would go live there in his pseudo reality, unaware that anything had ever happened with time travelling in the first place. It was selfish, but England didn't think he could live with that.

Plus the stupid nation had damaged his best spell book. Did the bloody fool not even think to close the thing before he went ahead and made a fireball right in his study? He touched one of the charred edges of the page carefully, the burnt paper flaking away in his hands. Other books were slightly damaged, and the walls had been a little burned nearest to where America had done the spell. There was no doubt about it; America was an idiot, but that had already been established.

England couldn't help but curse as he pulled an empty jar off his shelves. When had he run out of dragon scale dust? Damn that fool, he must have used more than he needed for the spell. That stuff was extremely hard to acquire! It barely even mattered in the moment, but England needed somewhere to direct his distress. In his fit of anger, England threw the glass jar as hard as he could against the ground, crying out as it shattered on the hardwood. He crouched among the shards, putting his head between his knees. He couldn't lose both of them...

It would be the end of him, it well, and truly would.

It took America a few moments to get his bearings. His head pounded, his muscles ached. When he sat up, a whole new set of aches raced through his body. He was unsure if he could get up, but if he was to save Canada, he had to get there. _Now. _So he forced his body to do his bidding, standing, walking, then running. The doorbell rang just as he burst through the door, pushing his way through the nations he had more or less forced to attend. They could do nothing but stare after him as he ran as fast as he could down the road.

"Ve~ Did America seem a bit odd to you?" Italy inquired, tilting his head as he watched America become a smaller dot as he ran down the road.

America had no time to waste. If he could just get there before he locked the door, before anything. If he could just... just stop him in time. It seemed like years before Canada's house came into sight. Just like the time before, he entered the house without bothering to knock. If America had been hoping for a different scene, he was disappointed; the lights were still out, dust still hung in the air. So not in time to stop it before it all started, but maybe in time to stop it before it ended. No switching on lights this time, then up the stairs, to the door, crashing into it, screeching like a banshee.

"M- maple. Who's there?" Canada's timid voice cried from behind the door.

"It doesn't matter, you open this door or I'm breaking it down!" America threatened, slamming his weight into the door again, feeling it groan. He was secretly hoping that Canada would open the door, and subconsciously not using his full strength.

"America, what are you doing here?" Canada asked, sounding afraid of his brother's sudden ferocity.

"Because you're my brother and I can't let you do this!" America informed him, his voice loud and distressed, begging his brother to be alright this time "I know what you're going to do, I- I'm from the future where you're dead and I don't want to live in the world without you!" America couldn't help himself this time as he burst out with the truth.

There was a pause, it couldn't have been more than a second, but to America, it felt like a millennia.

"Is this some sort of joke, Alfred?" Canada's voice was bitter and scolding "Because it isn't funny, you're going to break my door, and if you do, you're paying for it!" He tried to sound indignant, but America heard the begging undertone, the _please don't come in here._

"No... No! I broke into England's house and did one of his crazy spells and now here I am!" America insisted "And I have to save you!"

"Because you're the hero, right?" Canada chuckled darkly.

"Well- Well, yeah." America agreed, sniffing.

"Always about yourself, isn't it, America?" Canada sighed "You want to save me because that's what heroes do, not because you actually care"

Canada's words were so hurtful they brought America up short "Th- that's not what I meant-"

"Of course it was." Canada snapped "Go ahead, break the door down, have your big moment. It'll only be a matter of time before you aren't around to stop me!"

"Mattie... No, I promise that's not what I meant, you're my _brother_, you're family!" America cried out, bashing his body weight into the door again, and this time it swung open, but not because America broke it. Canada stood in the doorway, eyes bloodshot, running with tears. Not holding a gun, but a pencil instead.

"Family doesn't forget family" Canada sighed quietly, shaking his head, looking at his brother.

"I haven't forgotten you" America stared his brother with wide eyes. He had not seen Canada alive for some time. He only stared a moment before throwing himself at his brother, encasing him in a hug "I'll never forget you again, I promise, just- just don't do it, Mattie!" He cried the words into Canada's shoulder, trying to catch his breath.

"This isn't over, Alfred. I hope you realize that. I don't- I don't think things can ever be right between us" Canada told him bitterly, shaking his head, extracting himself from America's grasp.

Then it happened, and America felt a sharp tugging pain at the back of his head, like he was simply plucked from the scene downwards "Wait-!" He cried out "Ow-! What's _happening_?" The world blurred, and again he felt his body rushing through air, through the floor, falling. The last thing he saw was Canada pick up the gun again and smile at him.

When he opened his eyes, he was in England's study, and his former guardian's arms were wrapped tightly around him "I thought I'd lost you, America...!" Were the first words he heard, spoken directly into his ear.

"You thought you'd lost- what the fuck did you do?" America cried out, jumping back "Why am I back? _Where's Canada?_"

"I saved you, you bloody fool. Trying to jump back in time like that." England scoffed at him, but his eyes were soft, and he was more than relieved to see America again.

"You... pulled me _back_?" America felt like screaming. He tried to keep his voice level, but it rose in volume, became the bleat of an injured animal "But I- I saved him! I was... I was this close" He sobbed, falling to his knees, not caring that broken glass dug into his legs, instead glad for a sensation other than the intense loss that threatened to drown him. Why? England could have had them both back! _Why would he _do_ this? _"How could you _do _this, England? You could have had us both back if you'd just let me!"

"America..." England cooed soothingly, reaching out for him again, but his former charge shrunk back away from the touch "Spells don't work that way. You would never have come back here. You would have lived in a... a fake reality, constructed by the spell, nothing real. All it would have done is put you in a dream, a good dream, but still a dream." He tried to explain, but he couldn't help but think of how horrible this must all seem to America.

"Better than this fucking _stupid _world!" America sobbed, burying his face in his hands, his voice dropped to a whisper "...I want to die..."

"No, America, no... Shh... It'll be okay. I promise."

"Don't lie to me"

**...Happy Canada day.**


End file.
